That Oblivious Casanova Guy

Congratulations, Mr. Oblivious Casanova Guy. While most of the shit-sucking wastes of life featured on this site do nothing but make me wanna curbstomp infants, you actually manage to make me laugh and entertain me. No one's quite sure how you ever got the idea, but at some point in your life you decided that you were (insert deity)'s gift to women. And despite the astronomical number of girls you manage to take home(zero), you've never swayed in this opinion of yourself. I'd suggest taking a step back and looking at yourself, but you'd probably become enamored and start masturbating to your visage.

The Casanova isn't a difficult guy to spot. Just scan your surrounding area for the hottest group of girls, and within moments he'll be slinking up to them, ready to work some of that foolproof charm he's got. Do you know how it feels when you're extremely exhausted and dehydrated, and just want to drink something cold? So you pour yourself a cold glass of milk because it's the only thing in the fridge. And first there's that moment of refreshment, the look of relief on your face as you feel your body being recharged. But a split second later, you realize that the milk's gone bad and your expression contorts so much it looks like something out of the Kama Sutra. That is what happens to a woman when she realizes that this sad sack is talking to her. She'd already noticed his presence in the bar/restaurant/etc, because like men, women scout an area when they enter. Within 3 seconds of walking into a room, everyone has been given a mental rank and rating, and the Casanova's wasn't anything to write home about. But when she sees him moving in her direction, and realizes that he is actually going to attempt to hit on her? You can't fake that kind of distress. I'm fully convinced that OJ Simpson could pull up in a white Bronco offering a ride, and she'd take it in a heartbeat just to get away from this delusional creep.

How's this all play out in his mind? "Maybe I came on too strong...must've intimidated her with these rugged looks." Yea, I'm sure that the sight of your 5 ft 3 in frame and meticulously combed jewfro drove her so far up the wall she had to leave before she creamed herself right then and there. It definitely didn't have anything to do with the Bud Light in your hand(a sure sign of a fucking moron) or the half bottle of cologne that you willingly bathe yourself in on a daily basis. No, these chicks just couldn't keep their composure around such a stallion.But hey, that won't dissuade you. Nope, you'll just spin that visor around and head to the next flock, trying a much smoother approach that's guaranteed to work. Wait, did I say smooth? I meant to say you'd use some crappy pickup line like "It must've hurt when you fell from heaven" and then assume that their silence means they're in awe of your poetic mastery. I don't know if there's anyone in existence that has an attempt-to-failure ratio like you. But in truth sir, I salute you. Because fine folks like yourself make me look God-like in comparison. You keep on popping that collar; the world loves you, they just don't know it yet.

That Trendy Costume Guy

Ya wanna know how I got this Redsox Calendar?

And it is time for another installment of arguments against Darwinism, otherwise called That Guy. This week's that guy is one I am sure we are all familiar with and have had to suffer through over this wonderful weekend. I am talking about that trendy costume guy. From Neo to Jack Sparrow to the Joker, we can't escape that hoard of movie watching fanboys who want to be just like their big screen idols, to an infinitely shittier degree.

First and foremost that guy, you are not the Joker. Despite being a great role, Heath Ledger doomed us all by playing a psychopath dressed in clown makeup with a very easily copied voice. Therefore we already have droves of idiots who want to be this caked on sorry excuse of a costume. At least when Pirates of the Carribean was out, Jack Sparrow had a voice that was somewhat challenging to copy and thus no one walked around like they were in a drunken stupor, at least purposefully.

Halloween is a time for creativity. At the very least, be someone boring, something that's been done, something that takes more than "Hmm, that looks cool and everyone knows who that is and has a backstory, I'll be that." The worst part is though, despite being a costume of sheer laziness and uncreativity, that guy thinks he is being completely original and awesome. Maybe you and the forty seven other Jokers parading around the street. Great minds do think alike. Well, so do lemmings. Why don't you all go run off a cliff on a pile of syringes filled with AIDS. Then tell me where you got those scars and that abnormally low T-cell count.
That guy is incredibly frustrating because he is not a guy in costume, he is the character who shows up to your party, except he drinks your booze and tries to recite every single line from the movie in every possible context.

The Joker was particularly bad this Halloween. Everywhere I looked it looked like some sort of emo scenester clown college convention. All of them trying to out-Joker the other. Here's a tip that guy, if you want to be the most authentic, best joker of them all; take 4 bottles of sleeping pills and call me in the morning. HOOOHOOOHAHAHAHEEHEEHEEHEE

That Music Store Exhibitionist Guy

Ah yes, my triumphant return with a real entry on time. But wait, you didn't come here for my personal goings-on did you? No. In fact, none of you probably even care about who this is, so back to our irregularly scheduled hate speak. Today I am going to show you that guy who I'm sure any of you who have gone in a music store to buy an instrument, peruse accessories or stare at expensive things you will never own no matter how many extra shifts you pick up at your menial dead-end job frequent; that music store exhibitionist guy.

Who is this guy? Simple. That music store exhibitionist guy is the person who spends hours at the store playing his fingers off on a guitar, showing off on bass or pretending to be a rock star surrounded by his unpurchased amps, for sale signs and other consumers. That guy plays his heart out, and to his merit, tends to actually have some talent. Be it an impressive solo on a guitar, great rhythmic improvisation on bass or impressive beats on drums, that guy piques the attention of all who walk by and sometimes even amasses a small audience to listen to his 'impromptu' performance. But dear reader, do not fall for his ploy, for once you give him the attention that he craves, you are caught in his web.

That guy never plays for himself. No. He plays for others. Every spare moment he has is spent prostrating himself within this wall of instruments, hooked up to an amp, day in day out, hoping to grab a passerbys attention. Unlike a street performer, he does not do it for money, that guy does it for the sheer attention of it. Who knew talent could be offset by such a level of douche.

Along with his strutting around like a rooster, he talks like he is an expert in this field. Despite having technical and musical prowess, he comes off like a cocky Mr. Miyagi. "No no no, you have to play it like this, using an augmented 7th variation on a 3-6-5 progression." Oh, I'm sorry that guy, I can't hear you over the price tag on your guitar and the buckets of shit coming out of your mouth. Just because you have talent in a music store does not give you free reign over the idiot who can't tell the difference between a humbucker and pickguard. Why don't you actually buy your own instrument and practice not being a douche, since apparently you took all your time practicing on not being a douche to play guitar.

Burn in hell that guy. I hope it rains in the store so you get electrocuted and your family has to pay for all the equipment your scorching body ruined and didn't pay for so your grandmother has to be taken off life support and she spends eternity kicking your ass.

That Bandwagon Sports Fan Guy

What's that up in the sky? It's a bird! It's a plane! No, it's a sports team suddenly rising from the realm of mediocrity into the national spotlight!

Welcome once again to the blog that never ends, blah blah blah, witty introduction. Today we will take a look at one of the longest tenured guys, the bandwagon sports fan. Unlike the other wastes of life we've profiled on this website, the bandwagon sports fan is very easy to identify in public. Regardless of what city or state you live in, he can usually be found wearing the apparel of whatever team is currently sitting atop their league(currently Tampa Bay Rays, Boston Celtics, Tennessee Titans), or whatever team has a tendency to have a huge regular season, only to fail in the playoffs when it counts(Dallas Cowboys, New York Yankees, Los Angeles Lakers).

As opposed to true sports fans, who will stick with their chosen team through the best(3 Super Bowls in 4 years) and the worst(The Drew Bledsoe years), the bandwagon sports fan exists solely to root for whoever is most likely to finish their season as the champion. Said team will usually feature a polarizing star player that is hated by the media for his arrogance, but at the same time respected for his skill(see Owens, Terrell and Bryant, Kobe). The bandwagon fan will claim that player x is merely misunderstood by all of the media, and his ego and uncaring attitude towards his teammates merely represents his desire to motivate said teammates to win. But of course when player x loses, the blame rest solely on his teammates for not providing him with enough support. I mean, it's absurd to think that one man can carry an entire franchise on his back without a slight modicum of help.

For the most part, a bandwagon sports fan is financially successful, because it takes quite a lot of money to repeatedly buy new sports jerseys every season for whoever is the "it" player or team. For the NBA, it's been the Bulls, Lakers, Celtics, Cavaliers, Nuggets, and Spurs. In the MLB, the throne has always belonged to the Yankees, with the Red Sox, Cubs, White Sox, and now the Rays bringing up the rear. And in the NFL, it's frequently been Cowboy country, with some of the bandwagoners siding with the Colts and my beloved Patriots(go root for someone else, you assfucks). The only criteria to lure them in is an affinity for regular season dominance, during which the bandwagon fan will indulge in an insane amount of trash talk. Of course, when the playoffs roll around and their team meets with a first round exit at the hands of the team that barely stole a wild card spot, they'll disappear and hibernate for the offseason, before reemerging with a new jersey and a new team to root for. It's like a snake shedding its skin, but only if its dignity came off along with it.

Sports fans recognize that bandwagon fans are the worst fans in existence. If they latch on to a team you like, their stupidity and arrogance is usually enough to turn every other fanbase against you(see Patriots, 2007). If they latch on to a team you're indifferent to, they'll barely break a sweat making you hate said team with every inch of your being. And just like a hurricane, once the damage has been done and their team of choice is now public enemy #1, they'll quickly move on to the next successful fanbase while leaving yours in shambles. It's not even known if they're actual sports fans and know the Xs from the Os, or just want to wear a cool jersey. But regardless of their beginnings, few can argue with the fact that they must be exterminated as soon as possible, before there are no pure teams left to cheer for.

That Staring Guy

Deep in the brush of the Urban Jungle lies the illusive, yet altogether infuriating creature, that staring guy. Who is that guy you may ask? Who is this creature to earn my venomous post this week? Well, he is a very clever trickster indeed and when you notice him, you hope some horrible tragic malady to befall you and the 50 other people around you just to make sure this miserable creature is bathed in cleansing agony and death.

That staring guy is the one who out of the corner of your eye stares at you. Perhaps you are reading a paper, zoning out and watching the sidewalk or wall, walking somewhere, some means of activity in which your attention is not to your surroundings and then out of the corner of your eye, peripheral vision or such, you catch it. Two beady eyes staring holes through you. Of course you want to see the creature attached to these ocular spheres of annoyance, however as you look up and your eyes meet for a few slivers of a second, he darts his eyes away like a frightened squirrel in the middle of a group of children.

No matter how many times you look up, to confirm him staring, he quickly looks away. You look up, he looks to the side. You look to the side, he looks away. It's like some idiotic site gag on a bad cartoon show. Anytime you catch him in the act, he merely averts his gaze and acts like he is innocent. This game of idiotic cat and mouse happens until you reach where you're going or end up leaving.

Listen that guy, I am not some six year old at an ice cream truck, so stop looking at me as such. It's just eerie. You are the reason why there are blind people in the world, because you abuse your right to vision. If I had my way I would pour bleach into your contact solution and pour enough salt in your eyes to make beef jerky. At which point, I hope flies will lay eggs in your eyes so maggots will writhe from your useless and perpetually irritating ocular cavities. Fuck you that guy, fuck you.

Center of Attention Guy

Every group of friends has certain roles that must be filled. There's the voice of reason, that usually talks you out of the extremely stupid decisions. There's the daredevil, who uses alcohol as an elixir of life and convinces himself that he can do anything, five times better than anyone else. And then there's the Center of Attention Guy, a guy as devoted to the spotlight as Paris Hilton is devoted to dick.

It doesn't matter what the situation or location is, Center of Attention Guy is under strict orders from his overinflated ego that he must live up to his name, and be the first and last thought to cross the minds of everyone present. This is a man that wouldn't hesitate to give you oxygen, but only because he doesn't believe that there is any air present in space where you(along with the rest of the world) revolve around him. Whether he's making up stories, or speaking of genuine experiences, it's simply unacceptable that anyone else have anything of interest to say.

What's that? You're going mountain climbing this weekend? Well that's no longer important, because Center of Attention guy once climbed Mt. Everest. By himself. And then pulled down 30 orphans that were stranded at the top. You're meeting your favorite football player? CoA guy not only went to college with Tom Brady, but they regularly hang out, and Brady actually asks him for tips on improving his spiral. You single-handedly redirected a meteor that was going to end all life on Earth? CoA guy's done it twice, the second time while nursing two broken legs from the time he wrestled 5 grizzly bears and rescued a dozen nuns.

From the snobby to the absurd, Center of Attention guy will do whatever it takes to ensure that only what he says matters, no matter who it means undermining, or how many blatant lies it means spouting. Whether you believe it or not, it'll be in your mind, and that means that he's done his job. He's hijacked your brain and is using it for his own narcissistic means, pleasuring himself in front of the mirror to the idea of his clones, inhabiting the depths of all your minds. Don't give him this power. He tries to stretch the truth, stretch it even farther. Anything he says, don't hesitate in any way to overrule him.

...or, you could just backhand the guy. Whatever works.

That Perpetual Bar Guy

We here at that guy are filled with hate for our fellow guys, however we do not always feel seething torturous hate. Sometimes we see that guy and are filled with sadness and pity, and want to decapitate him not out of spite but out of mercy. This is the tale of one of someone who should be euthanized for his own good. This is the tale, of that perpetual bar guy.

That perpetual bar guy is a fixture at every bar you go to, always by himself, always looking morose into his drink or staring blankly at some distant wall, the television or something with hollow, blank eyes. He rhtymically drinks from his glass, ordering round after round, never talking to anyone or even acknowledging the presence of anyone around him. The only time that he ever stops this lovely dance of drink and stare is when he decides to go to the bathroom to relieve himself. Upon returning, he mechanically returns to his stool and continues his bicep workout with an ever decreasing glass giving off more ennui than a goth club at night during an eclipse after their parents told them that it was time to go home.

That guy is a miserable alcoholic bastard, but even more so than most miserable alcoholic bastards. Most self pitying alcoholics tend to buy the cheapest of the cheap booze and drink it in the dank solitude of their hovels. Their misery is contained therein, insulating the rest of the populous from their radiation of misery. The only person ever to be exposed to this lethal dose of depression tends to be the delivery boy who comes by and provides sustenance for this sad creature. But as a whole, they are sequestered away from the rest of us.

That guy however breaks free from his fetters and radiates buzzkill radiation all around him. You feel pity towards him. Suddenly, all eyes furtively go to his direction. There are hushed tones and whispers speculating to his origin, as to why he is there, drinking alone by himself, unmoving. Suddenly, this drinking sedentary piece of shit becomes the star of the bar. Everyone watches him, fascinated by his alcoholic, liver damaging ritual, to the point where others start to join in. We have been infected with the sadness, morose quality of his being. We are now all that guy, to a small degree. And yet, still unmoving, still unfazed, still oblivious, continues to drink hypnotically. He is sadder as he craves us, craves to share his misery in his quiet yet overwhelming way until we are all downing our drinks out of utility rather than socialization.

Therefore that guy must be stopped. He must be fed a mixture of arcenic, Drano, bleach, gasoline, anthrax and Moxy cola. He must be put out of his misery because if it does not stop, it will be like that person you slept with and never told anyone. It will spread, and soon, everyone will have it.

That Crusader Guy

(Don LaFontaine voice over)

In a world...with normal people...where casual, ordinary conversations are the norm...one man had something to say...an agenda...a crusade!

Welcome once again to this corner of the internet, where we dissect the douchebags that have become a part of all our daily lives, and teach you how to deal with them for once and for all. Our guest of honor today is That Crusader Guy. AKA, the one person we all know that always has a cause. Whether it's standing up for the western Kentucky Luchador Cockroach, or demanding that circus clowns be allowed to have polygamous relationships, the Crusader will always have something to fight for, and no matter how disinterested you might seem, will devote more time recruiting others into the fold than they do actually fighting for said cause.

The most difficult thing about a Crusader is that they're sometimes impossible to detect until it's too late. Everyone has different interests and hobbies, and as a result, anyone is capable of latching onto any cause. Now, I'm not attacking people that choose to be active in whatever they're passionate about. I would expect that if you truly care about something, you'll make your voice heard if it's necessary. No, I'm talking about the person that latches onto any and all causes, just for the sake of being "active in the world". Long story short, protesting and being an activist makes them cool. They'll be as equally opposed to Starbucks as they are meat and the lack of sandals for the homeless.

Usually, by the time a crusader has been identified, there is no option for escape and you'll be forced to listen to their speil about how x is being unfairly held down by y and that we're the only ones that can change that. You could be sitting around discussing a movie you recently watched, and the Crusader will make it a point to inform you that 10 years ago the director posed in a picture with someone that once bought a Nike wristband, which means that said movie is supporting sweatshops. Before you even have a chance to react and comment on the level of absurdity in the statement you just heard, and endless sea of pamphlets are being tossed at you, along with 5 different protests planned for the next month at 5 locations with no real link to each other or the nonexistent problem.

And of course, if you make the mistake of stating that said problem doesn't really concern you, the Crusader will look at you as if you just devoured their infant child right before their very eyes. Not beliving in a cause they rant to you about basically means that not only do you support it, but on weekends you probably fly overseas just to use cattle prods on those children so they can make those sneakers even faster. You're a monster, and the only way they know how to respond to you is...by leaving more pamphlets. Everywhere. On your desk, snuck into your coat pocket, under your windshield wiper. Clearly the problem is that you don't know the truth, so it must be force-fed to you until you have seen the error of your ways. Or until you finally snap and return every single one of those pamphlets to the Crusader...rectally of course.

The worst thing about the Crusader is that they can never truly be stopped. It's like cutting the head off of a hydra, two more will grow in its place. The best a person can do is either lie like a madman, to the point where they believe you're supporting the cause in your own private way, or go in the opposite direction and do everything in your power to make them hate you and leave you alone(which would really be much better). But whatever path you decide to take, do it quickly, before you find yourself at a singalong in a tie-dye shirt.

Those Human Wall Guys

So based on previous posts, you could probably guess that I'm not a person that possesses a great deal of patience, and you would be right. I'm not some maniac that always flies off the handle at every little incident, but there are certain things that will never fail to send me into a near-murderous rage, and the Human Wall is one of them. The Human Wall is basically what happens when you have a group of people walking down the sidewalk, who decide that it would be a brilliant idea to walk side-by-side, and completely obstruct the path of anyone else that wants to move in either direction. The most common perpetrators are teenage girls (who walk this way so that they can discuss such important topics as their new shade of lipstick) and the elderly (who knows what their reasons are for anything), but they're far from the only ones guilty.

No matter how many people give them dirty looks while walking in the street to pass them, they remain completely oblivious to the fact that the only thing their mindless chit-chat will accomplish is turning a legion of pedestrians behind them into a blood-hungry mob. You would probably have a better chance of getting past the Minnesota Vikings defensive line than actually breaking through this whiny, high-pitched blockade.

The absolute worst thing is the speed. If they were at least moving at a normal pace, it wouldn’t pose as much of a problem, because you could just follow behind and then make a turn when necessary. But no, whenever these groups get together, it’s as if all of their gravitational pulls tug at each other and slow the entire mass down to about 1mph. They're the pedestrian equivalent of the 95 year old man driving his Oldsmobile, squinting through his inch-thick spectacles (to old people, they're always spectacles, not glasses) barely peeking over his steering wheel, and using all of the force in his arthritis-riddled leg to push down on the gas pedal and burn rubber at an amazing 23mph on the fucking highway…only to later realize he’s no longer on the highway, and is seconds away from crashing through a donut shop.

The time has come for us to stand up against these traitorous bastards, attempting to deny us of the right to walk on the sidewalk freely. No more will we be slowed to a snail’s pace! No more will we be forced to use the street to pass and risk bodily harm or worse. From this day forth, if you see a Human Wall, feel free to drop your shoulder, charge right through them, and let em know who the fuck you are:

Express Ride to Drunkville Guy

Someone's throwing a party, whether it's a close acquaintance or a friend of a friend of a friend. Regardless of who it is, it's a party, and there will be booze and women and fun times to be had. So you meet up with a friend or two and head over there to partake in the festivities. But within 5 minutes of walking through the doorway and saying hi to everyone there, you turn to see your friend has already chugged a beer and is hard at work on his second. Ladies and gentlemen, this man is on an express ride to drunkville.

Everyone has that friend. Whoever it was that passed on the laws of manhood decided it was a good idea to tell him to get as drunk as possible, as quickly as possible. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not some sort of anti-liquor nazi, demanding that everyone stick to Zimas and Mike's Hard Lemonades with a side of castration. It's a well known fact that I like to get drunk and there are countless embarrassing stories that prove this. But the fact is that there's a time and a place to get completely fucked up, and that's the only time it should happen.

Let's say there's about 10-15 of you meeting up to watch football, either college or pro. You're basically in it for the long haul, as games usually run from 1pm to about 11pm, and that's with no overtime. Now, if Drunkville Guy immediately starts throwing back everything with a warning label for pregnant women, he's gonna find himself cradling the toilet bowl and heaving up those nachos(or pine-sol) he ate.

Normally, if someone is making an ass of themselves, then they're on their own. You take photos, crack jokes, then carry on about your business. But if said person came to the party with you, then you two are linked. To anyone there that doesn't know you, you will be known as "the guy that brought the drunk asshole". And if you were planning on talking to any women or getting some numbers? I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it's not gonna happen. It's like having a good wingman. You know that there might be times when he needs to drink to take one for the team, but he still knows that control is key. If he's not sober and coherent enough to keep up his end of the bargain, then neither of you will be making some lucky woman swear off drinking the next morning. You'd probably make less of a negative impression if you took a shit in the host's fish tank.

While it's unfair that you should be held responsible for the actions of others, the sad truth of it is that those are the rules. Women travel in packs, and trying to pull one away is like taking a grizzly cub from its mother. They'll do and say anything to keep that one girl from going off with you, and having Drunky McBoozenstein on his knees proposing to a bar stool is just the ammunition they need. Teach the lesser ones amongst you, because you both will benefit from a well executed gameplan. Not that there aren't times where drinking yourself into oblivion is the right call to make.

That indecisive fast food guy

Ah yes, another guy who I'm sure all of us are familiar with. I'm sure in our moments of weakness, hunger, self loathing, boredom or other motivation to dine at one of the many wonderful fast food restaurants. They're not hard to find, they dot our landscape like monoliths of diabetes and obesity, promising supreme value over caloric intake. In these troubling times of economic instability, it is nice to know that we can all retreat into our fast food hovel of choice and satiate that masochistic desire to swallow a deep fried something, covered in other greasy somethings all topped off with a sauce biologically designed to clog our arteries. But we all have our favorite sandwiches be it the triple bypass burger, the McFried special or a Jr. Lardo soft serve shake. Either way, we all know what we want. Even further still, we know what all of the items are on that colorful, greasy menu. They're all variations on the same basic thing, simple yes? That is why that guy's existence boggles my mind.

That guy is the one who stands in line in front of you. He does not let us experienced artery cloggers walk past him, he holds his position firmly, staring up at the vertical menu, studying it with all the intricacies of a lost and priceless manuscript. He stands there, unmoving, mesmerized by the combos, enticed by the wonderful looking cyclopean mounds of meat and rendered animal fats, immobile. No one shall pass him, no one must receive their ambrosia before he sups on the delicious flavors served on his wax paper in its magnificent paper bag presentation.

Listen that guy, you have clearly been in this place before. You and your several chins look like a row of giant slugs hanging upside down from a big sack of fat. And judging by his slight gravitational pull, that guy is most certainly familiar if not eerily intimate with the foods at this wonderful establishment. Yet despite his corpulence and being the embodiment of every single "Yo mamma so fat..." joke, he still can't make up his mind.

The time it should take one to decide as to what unhealthy dessicated disgusting dirty delicacies should be half a second. By the time you walk in those doors and that horrid scent of fried souls hits you, you should already know what you want (and already salivating in line). You don't saunter in to a fast food place and read the menu like A Tale of Two Cities. There are no best or worst of times. There is a fucking burger and fries. Pick one and let the rest of us get on with our descent into diabetic obesity. This is not a fancy restaurant, there is no maitre'd, no table cloths, hell there isn't a bathroom half the time. The menu is not hard illegible and you don't even have to be literate. Just point to your mountain of calories and get on with it.

That guy slows me down and should die a horrible painful death involving the deep fat fryer and his genitals. Every second he takes to choose between the ultra mega deluxe combo platter or the chicken mcdiahrrea is another second that makes me reconsider my actions. He is the person who wants to skydive but is too scared to jump himself. Perhaps next time he should bring with him a starving Ethiopian child so they can order in tandem. Make up your mind that guy, before I supersize the foot that I am going to plant in the fold on your backside that I think is your ass.

Out Of His Element Guy

"Shut the fuck up Donny, you're out of your element!"

Out Of His Element Guy. Unlike some of the other guys we've featured on this blog, this dude isn't nearly as specific and can be found almost anywhere. The simple definition is Out Of His Element Guy is in his name; he's out of his element. I'm not talking about someone similar to the Out Of Place Guy from concerts, he just sticks out from the crowd visually. No, this is the guy who believes he's the authority of everything, even if he's been doing _____ for 4 weeks and you've been doing _____ for 7 years. It never fails, whenever you find yourself hanging out with friends discussing any topic, whether it's sports, books, politics, gardening, or the tangiest mustard, he's always going to politely share his opinion. And by that I mean obnoxiously interrupt someone and open with some line like "Well my father was a legendary cat shaver..." which he thinks gives him more knowledge than anyone else.

There are two breeds of this guy, one is the how-to, and the other is the critic. The how-to shows his face whenever there's something to be done, or a problem to be solved. Hear a rattling sound in your dashboard? How-To used to pay an ex-mechanic to buy him booze, so he knows the problem and solution. Trying to think of a way to makeup with your girlfriend after a fight? How-To's read all 40 volumes of the manual on dating, despite the fact that he's been single for as long as you've known him. From setting up your HDTV to time travel, he's got the answer you seek, and it's a shame that such a powerful mind isn't being put to work by science. If the world ever comes to an end, I'm certain that somewhere in his room there lies a napkin with a formula that could have prevented it, if only we had listened.

The Critic is the guy I find myself dealing with(and as a result, completely loathing) most of all. He is an authority on all things, and his judgement is not to be questioned. Say for example you're discussing sports, and The Critic expresses his dislike of football, which is just "a bunch of guys hitting each other, something that requires no intelligence or strategy at all". Of course The Critic doesn't even follow sports, and if he truly believes that, I know a few coaches with some 600-page playbooks they'd like to show him.

My favorite one of all is the music critic. As I've stated before, I listen to alot of heavy metal, leaning towards the more extreme stuff. I understand that to most people, it's simply too abrasive, and that's fine. But along comes the Critic, who states that the reason he dislikes metal is because "it doesn't take any talent, it's just playing random notes as fast as you can and gurgling into a microphone". Meanwhile, he loves U2 and Fallout Boy and thinks that Kurt Cobain is the world's greatest guitarist. Oh, and he's also never touched a musical instrument in his life. There are many generalizations made about heavy metal music(it's all satanic, it's all noise, etc), but for someone to actually state that it's a talentless genre is one of the most ridiculous statements a person can make. Obviously, if he's around people that don't know any better, they'll simply take his word for it. But saying such things in the presence of a person that actually knows what they're talking about is one of the fastest ways to have yourself branded a moron.

Now, I don't know why this guy exists. I don't know what the reason is that makes him feel he's justified in pretending to be an expert in things he knows nothing about. But in the end, absolutely no good can come from it. I don't care what your college roommate's dealer's cousin's friend said about upgrading a computer, if I want advice I'll ask someone that actually knows what they're talking about. So until a question is posed directly at you, shut the fuck up Donny; you're out of your element.

That Stationary Escalator Guy

Today's that guy is someone near and dear to my heart. And by that I mean, choking him so I could feel his last breath leave his body as he slowly turns blue still unaware of his idiotic actions. No, this update's that guy is a plague on society, you too may be that guy. Who is it? It's the Stationary Escalator Guy.

I'm sure you've seen this guy around, hell you might even be this guy. They might travel in herds or stalk the streets alone. Either way, they need to be wedged between the wheel and axle of a tractor trailer driving over a highway made of broken glass. On fire. That guy pisses me off for many reasons... and so I'll list them.

First and foremost, that guy never just walks somewhere. He powerwalks. I'm sure you have all noticed this. His pace is just a little faster than his pace should be given his size. So this obviously means he's in a rush somewhere. In some occasions that guy is even running somewhere. However like everyone else of his tribe, as soon as he gets to this magical moving staircase he stops. He plants both feet firmly on the step, sometimes if he feels adventurous, he puts one foot up on the next step or the one after that, perhaps to give the illusion of movement. Hmm, perhaps the people walking by on the stairs are thinking he is an amazing human being for walking so smoothly up those metal stairs with rubber handrails. His rush and speed are gone as he has become a mannequin; immobile and useless. However as soon as he gets to the end of his little stationary thrill ride, he runs off like a man with an imminent bowel explosion looming over him.

Another thing that I notice about that guy is how much of a trance he gets when he steps up to the escalator. As soon as his feet are planted on those winding stairs, he suddenly stops anything and everything he is doing and looks up, mesmerized by the coming horizon of the next level, be it lower or higher to his relative position. However if this person is on the phone, they either talk 90 degrees to their left, their right or if going upstairs, directly into the ass of the person above them. I'm sorry that guy, but if you think an escalator is magical, then I have a magic disease for you called cancer, why don't you get mesmerized by a tumor slowly growing inside you until you die and GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY WAY.

You see, the fact that guy seems to forget with escalators are that they are still fucking stairs. If an escalator breaks, do you try to find another working one? No! You walk right up them, and even slightly stumble awkwardly over those first few midget steps. Despite there usually being a staircase in the middle of escalators, we all go up the escalator regardless. We walk up them, like a normal staircase. Is there something that tells us that if we're making progress, we shouldn't make any MORE progress? Thank you that guy, for striving for mediocrity.

What pisses me off the most about that guy on the escalator however, is how he gets in my way. Listen that guy, you may have hoards of followers and annoying evil creatures that do your bidding, like a lazy unmoving non charismatic cult leader, but I am not one of your kind. If on an escalator, I use them for their purpose. As an intermediary between points A and B. An escalator is not a means of conveyance, it is a moving staircase, but that does NOT excuse you from not moving. Have we as a society progressed to the point where if we are getting too much done, we feel bad? God forbid we make more progress than what the almighty escalator dictates, but it shouldn't have to hamper me! I am not one of your kin, give me the choice! I'm sure you have been an unfortunate victim of their initiation rituals. Normal you, walking up the stairs, going side to side, ignoring that guy, continuing on our path up the stairs. Then it happens, your path to the left is blocked by that guy and the path around him is blocked by his friend/family/fellow cultist that guy 2. Therefore you are trapped, unable to move, blocked by that guy, forced to take part in their ridiculous sedentary lifestyle for those agonizing few seconds. Just when you feel your humanity drain away, you finally reach the end, but not before needing a shower and a genocide on their kind.

The solution to this problem is simple. Next time someone stands in our way at an escalator, let us kick them behind their kneecaps. This will cause them to tumble down the stairs, cutting themselves on the jagged ridges of an escalator as they topple people over and impale more and more of their kin, like bloody lemmings trapped in a cage on a treadmill. And with some luck, some of them will be paralyzed. If you want to get from point A to point B not moving, then so be it. I will make your legs not work so you won't be able to ever again. And then escalators shall be free for us, the ones that WALK on stairs, not stand on them.

Special Edition: That Concert Guy

Last Friday I went to Worcester to catch the almighty Carcass on their reunion tour(amazing, amazing show). The lineup was surprisingly solid, since most shows in this area consist of one or two good metal bands, and then some crappy hardcore or metalcore support. But as awesome as a concert might be, there are always those certain people in the crowd that seem to exist for no purpose but to drive your blood pressure up the wall. So today I'm gonna spotlight the various people that you do not want to be at a concert.


1. Personal Mosh Pit Guy
Now if you've ever been to a concert at a decent sized venue, you know that crowds can vary in size. Early on, while the opening band is playing, the audience is just walking around, passing time, and most people aren't even there yet. But by the time the headliner is performing, practically everyone is on the floor, pushing towards the stage, and people are packed in tighter than a japanese subway. It's uncomfortable, but that's just the way it goes at concerts, so you deal with it. Well, most deal with it. Personal Mosh Pit Guy is apparently unable to contain his enthusiasm, and decides that right then and there, shoulder to shoulder with everyone around him, he has to mosh. Not headbang, not pump his fist and throw the horns, but full on, pushing everyone in all directions mosh. And it's not some claustrophobic freakout, as if he's trying to make some space. He'll just keep going and pushing and shoving, rocking out to the music, completely oblivious to the increasingly pissed off crowd around him. Why he feels this need, no one knows. But I'd be lying if I said metalheads weren't prone to aggression and violence, and guys like this are just throwing gas on the fire.

2. The Bill Withers Fan
Why Bill Withers? Because this guy always seems to lean on me. I'm just standing around, watching the band perform and getting into it, when I feel someone push into my back. It's fine, I have my back to the mosh pit, it's to be expected. People bump you, and then go off in some other random direction, nothing new. Except this guy doesn't go off in another direction. I turn around, wondering if he lost his balance or something, but no. He's merely using me as a wall to lean on while he plays the sickest air guitar solo ever. Nevermind the fact that playing air guitar in the pit is retarded, but he apparently looks at me and sees "post to lean on". I guess when there's that much metal coming out of your air Les Paul, you don't have the energy to stand on your own. So of course I elbowed him off of me. Did he fall or something? Damned if I know, I'm just a wall.

3. The Eager Student
My friend Bob pointed this one out to me, it's a variation on the traditional spin-kick, punch-the-floor hardcore kid. Seeing as how flailing around like a kung fu student having a seizure doesn't seem to show people how much of a failure you are, these guys decide to wear a backpack at the same time. Filled with textbooks. I understand, the show was earlier than usual(5pm), maybe you didn't have time to drop your bag off at home. But if you have a bag full of textbooks, please, there is no fucking reason for you to go into the pit. It's already hazardous enough with the spin kicks, the last thing someone needs is to have your Calculus textbook break their nose. If you've got a bag, stay out of the pit.

4. Out of Place Guy(idea by Paulina)
You know the out of place guy, he's a hard dude to miss. No matter whether it's a metal show, some frat-boy soft rock, or what. I'm not saying that concerts should have dress codes, but come on. If someone is attending a Nile concert(brutal death metal for those that don't know), and you've got all the usual suspects there(guy wearing all black, guy wearing all black and a denim vest, guy wearing black nazi shirt, etc), and then you see him. Big dude, long hair, moshing in the pit with everyone else.....wearing a tie-dye shirt. Nothin against the guy personally, because he seems to be into the music as much as everyone else...but he just looks out of place. Like maybe he took a wrong turn somewhere, but he's a really laid back dude. So he just said "Fuck it, I'll stay here". It's like being arrested by a cop in bicycle shorts and a hawaiian shirt, it just makes for a very confusing situation.

5. The Classic: Sweaty, Shirtless Fat Guy
One of the most common, but worst guys to ever have to encounter. There isn't much to say about him, the name pretty much sums him up. I understand it gets hot at concerts, especially as more and more people pile into the venue. But once you lose the shirt, you're crossing a line. You think Personal Mosh Pit Guy and The Bill Withers Fan are annoying as is? Imagine them both as fat sweaty shirtless guys. My friend Liz was surrounded by sweaty clothed guys, and her vest was completely and utterly covered in sweat. Imagine what it would have been like if they had been shirtless, with no added protection between flesh and you. It's cruel, and all it takes is one guy to lose his balance moshing, and slam his sweaty manboob into the side of your face to completely ruin the concert experience.

I hope this guide can help you during your concert experiences. With hard work, we can eliminate these guys from all venues and make them all safer places for you and me.

That jinxing guy

Back in the day, Bro-ses went up to the mountain to seek guidance, and ask what was the path that men should follow in the world. He came down with a list of commandments, hastily scrawled on a taco bell napkin. Few know it, but this napkin has outlined basic tasks that all men are responsible for. For example, Commandment IV states that "Ye Shall Never Let Thy Friend Forget That He Hath Plowed A Fatty", and Commandment IX is "If Thine Drinking Is Ever Questioned, Thou Must Engage In A Drink-Off, Or Thy Manhood Will Be Revoked". The simplest and most basic one merely states that "Thou Must Always, always, ALWAYS Giveth Shit To Thine Friends, Without Fail". And this is the one that usually separates the men from the boys. If your friend manages to utterly annihilate you with a burn, will you get pissed and demand he apologizes? Or will you counter him with such force that his entire family loses consciousness? It's your duty to never surrender, even if it means reminding him about when he pissed his pants in the second grade. No mercy, guys.

There are countless methods of shit-talking employed between friends. There's the classic "Your mom/aunt/sister/grandma/other female relative", the questioning of one's sexuality, and of course the implication that one likes to get fucked by wild horses. But one that few use is the power of the jinx. The jinx is unpopular because it's not an every-situation response, but if used in the proper setting, it can devastate like nothing else. One scenario is as follows: You and your friend are out somewhere, when he sees a girl he wants to ask out. He's just blabbing on and on about her positives. So you throw out a casual "Haha, I bet she used to be a man. Look at those hands, they're huge." And of course, you look at her, and she looks like a woman, because she is one. But those hands are kinda big. So now your infatuation has turned into hesitation and doubt. The entire time you're talking to her, you're staring at her tits, but only to see if they're implants. Practically boring a hole in her neck with your eyes, looking for the slightest hint of an adam's apple. Basically, there's no way to save the situation. Either your friend is right, and the jinx has come to pass, or he's wrong, but the seed of doubt has become planted to far in your head to salvage this.

Playing poker? "You're totally gonna lose all your money tonight". Going to a party? "You're gonna puke tonight and make an ass of yourself". The jinx can and will show up anywhere. Of course, 9 times out of 10, it doesn't come to pass. But the one time that it does can be the deadliest of all. Say for example, someone that shall go unnamed(but writes for this blog and isn't named OD) spends the entire NFL offseason reminding you about 18-1 at every opportunity possible, and says something along the lines of "They've been good for too long, you know it's gotta end now. Watch, he's(referring to Tom Brady) gonna get injured in his first game". And I tell him to shut the fuck up of course, because the guy's never missed a game. But in the back of my head, I know that the jinx has been summoned. The wheel of fate is turning, deciding if this one shall come to pass, or be left to die. I'd all but forgotten about this jinx, and was enjoying the Patriots home opener at a bar when tragedy struck.

Yea, fucking with your friends and giving them shit is fun. But if there's any lesson you take away from this blog, DON'T BE THAT JINXING GUY. All it takes is one motherfucker going in low after your quarterback to teach you that the jinxing gods do not fuck around. If you keep calling them out, making jinx after jinx, eventually one of them will come to pass. Not to mention, if you jinx me, and it comes true, I will devote my life to jinxing the ever loving hell out of your life. I'm getting voodoo dolls and everything. So for your own safety, to avoid the wrath of the jinxed, don't be that guy.

That loud annoying cell phone guy

Just in case you guys didn't know, That Guy is an interactive blog. If you have anyone you would like for us to rant about, by all means send it forth. We are a bunch of lazy writers who miss deadlines and we are more than happy to make your grievances our own. That Guy is universal and chances are if he annoys you, he annoys the rest of us.

This week's That Guy is that loud annoying cell phone guy. I'm sure you've seen him around. He is the person that doesn't quite understand how a cell phone works. Oh sure he knows what all the buttons do and texts like a hyper 14 year old talking about boys or pregnancy pacts, but he does not seem to know how to use this piece of mobile technology.

First off, that guy doesn't seem to understand that a cell phone is a phone, not a deaf retarded child. I have seen that guy with bluetooth headsets or a phone shoved up against their face, screaming into the mic. No matter how frantically you scream into the mic, they are not there next to you. What is the point of you yelling at someone. I know you're trying to add emphasis to your conversation, but listen that guy, the only emphasis you're adding is to my thoughts of how big of a douchebag you are. And so far you get a C, which is impressive because it is on a scale from 1-10. He traversered the known numbers and ended up 3 past the end of infinity. I don't care how "Dat bitch was totally suckin [my] dick the other night and how 'tits'" it was. No amount of titosity can merit you screaming into your cell phone like a Howler monkey in heat.

The next thing that bugs the fuck out of me about that guy is the fact that he gestures when he is on the phone. I'm not sure they told you this at the store, but this isn't the Jetsons that guy. We do not have videophones yet. Therefore you pointing to the left and right when giving directions does absolutely nothing. You are not talking to a deaf child next to you, but you can assume they're blind. They flail their arms, point and gesture like a disco dancer doused in gasoline and set on fire. The only thing your arm flails are doing is pissing me and the rest of humanity off.

And then we have these cell braggers. You know the ones. This version of that guy is fairly hard to find, but when you do, watch out. His douche levels are critical. Being around him is a health hazard, it's like being in Chernobyl with no Russians but twice the radiation. That guy uses his phone to brag to no one in particular, to impress the people around him by talking about his newly found accomplishments, money, cars or just how overly awesome he is. Congratulations that guy, you have proved that mid 1990s comedians have said about you. In the mid 1990s, observational humor was at its infancy with jokes such as "Black people walk like this, but white people walk like this deedeedeedeedee." The humor was funny at the time but had no sense of reality. Now in this dark age of comedy, they said people who used cell phones were full of themselves, talking to no one and was using it as a way to differentiate and elevate themselves above the rest of the social strata. Thank you for proving the stereotype that guy. Why don't you go eat some watermelons, be greedy and fly planes into tall buildings. No, in fact why don't you just do the last thing. Except change fly planes into kill, and into tall buildings into yourself. Do it with a potato peeler, and just keep peeling flesh off your forearm until you die. Do us all a favor and do it. Your phone does not make you more or less liked.

We all use cell phones, we all talk to our friends, and yes sometimes we are loud. But that guy takes it to a whole other level. He transcends levels of rage to the point where putting him in a gaint washing machine with half of South Africa and a million razor blades then running him down a cheesegrater slide into a kiddie pool of lemon juice isn't enough. Technology brings us all one step forward, but in the case of that guy, it's one giant leap for pissing me the fuck off.

That lonely socially awkward coworker guy

To those of you who have ever worked at an office, retail or food service establishment, you are most likely familiar with this guy. This creature brings forth feelings of pity rather than hatred. But in a way you feel when a starving, skinny Boston Terrier tries to attack your leg in hopes of getting some sustenance from it. It's annoying and painful, but you can't help feel sorry for this poor misshapen beast.

What is that guy like? That guy is the very quiet person at his desk who doesn't quite know how to talk to people. That guy can never start a conversation but when you have to talk to that guy, either work related or out of sheer soul-crushing mind numbing boredom and need some distraction, he pounces on your company like a mountain lion on a rabbit.

That guy never has anything interesting to say, nor does he go anywhere with the conversation. However every word that comes out of his mouth is spoken with such zeal in hopes to keep you around for a while that it's almost mesmerizing in a way. You don't care about that guy or what he has to say at all, but to see someone so desperate for human companionship that they would stoop to this inhuman level of fake conversation is just mind boggling. It's like watching a car crash in slow motion while you're eyes are locked with the driver. You can see the car crumple like a soda can and see the force travel through his body, snapping his bones yet just can't look away.

That guy also can't take a hint of how disinterested or bored you are. No matter how you stand, look down the hall, hint at going back to your desk or something else to keep you away from this gravitational well of depressing social monstrosity, he continues to ramble on and on. That guy will either talk about a show and at the end of his rant that would put a movie pitch to shame, he'll say something along the lines of "but it's not that good" or "it's just ok". That sure is one hell of a mixed message that guy, for verbally lashing me in place as you ranted about a magnet engine you saw at youtube and how hydrogen is now obsolete, that it all ends up being not all that interesting.

I believe that guy feeds off of attention and body warmth. My theory is that guy's family hates him. Therefore he needs to suck the attention from someone, as a surrogate mother of sorts. Listen that guy, just because I work with you, does not mean I am going to allow you to suckle on my attention giving teat. Leave me alone.

Yet in all of my dealings and interactions with that guy, I can't quite bring myself to say anything to him. He really is just like a lost, hungry, sad little puppy who is talking to you out of sheer, desperate, crippling desperation. This will be his last chance to see a human close up before he retreats to his studio apartment, sits on the couch and waits another boring, slow, miserable night for Death to come by so he finally has a house guest. I can't hurt him... until I think of the best way to do it. Then I'll have me a laugh. I hate you that guy, shut up about your godamn magnets.

That obnoxious overenthusiastic movie guy

I like to go to the movies. And I'm sure as the previews end you get your own theater's annoying way of telling you "Silence is Golden" or shut off your cell phone, or in a polite and nice way to shut the fuck up. I'm sure this all slightly annoys you because in these ads the treble is just a bit high and the pitch of the cell phone playing or child crying is just at the right frequency to turn on the rage centers of your brain and makes you want to make something suffer. Therefore that guy annoys me greatly.

In case you are not familiar with that guy, he is the one that decides every tense, funny, scary, suspenseful, romantic, buildup; climaxing moment is the height of cinematic achievement and behaves in turn. It's like the writers of the movie have a gun pulled to his head and unless he shows as much possible emotion for every single plot point, joke etc, they will shoot him and disembowel his children with melonballers.

If you are lucky that guy is only going to be obnoxious when the entire theater laughs or gasps. However that guy will continue to react at every small minor moment or continue to discuss and rave about the moment that has passed several minutes ago. Perhaps that guy is a mental invalid who continually finds things as interesting and novel as when they are first perceived. Similar to watching Roseanne for the first time. It only mildly sucks the first time you see it, but with each subsequent time it’s on TV you dive for the remote and change the channel faster than a Kenyan Marathon runner being chased by a hungry lion. What exactly is the point to that guy’s reaction? Was it really that funny that he is still laughing at some guy being kicked in the balls for 5 minutes? News flash that guy, it is all movie magic. I have seen my friends and real people get kicked in the balls, it is funny for 15, maybe 30 seconds tops. A minute (and that’s the upper limit) if you really despise the person. Anything more and you’re bordering on finding shiny objects amusing.

Another thing I’ve noticed about that guy is that he seems to add little quips and jokes or worse still, one liners to the movie. I have analyzed this behavior and realize it benefits no one except that guy. It is his way of saying “Hey, I am so clever I have made an astute observation to make your enjoyment of the movie better.” No you haven’t that guy, no you haven’t. I know for a fact no one else in the theater is enjoying his golden nuggets of comedic or observational genius. The rest of us are in a movie theater to watch a movie. Even the people/person who accompanies that guy look annoyed and scowls as they try to block out his voice from their ears. Unlike us, that guy’s cohorts have learned to put up a vocal filter so as to tune him out. They can just act like he’s not there, like parents do when a child cries in a restaurant. The rest of us want to introduce this child’s mind to the front and back of its skull several dozen times in a minute, while the parents calmly look at each other and talk, ignoring this vile spawn which screamed its way out of its mothers now useless orifice.

When the movie starts to darken and the end credits start to roll, he stands up and gives a standing ovation in a loud and obnoxious manner. Now some of you may do this, but what bugs me about that guy is that he doesn’t just do it at opening week; he doesn’t just do it at a premiere. He does it all the time. It could be him with 3 of his acquaintances (I don’t like humanizing that guy by saying it has friends) and he’ll still be up there, clapping, sometimes hollering, like a hungry seal trying to get a fish. The writers, producers or anyone in the movie isn’t there to appreciate you’re clapping you waste of resources, stop clapping.

However, despite his obvious love and enthusiasm for the movie, he has to be the first one out of the theater. As soon as the lights even start to get brighter, he jumps up from his seat and runs for the exit, shoving other people over in a mad dash towards freedom. He runs out of the theater like a bat out of hell, and not unlike the Meatloaf CDs, annoying as all fucking hell.

So in summation, that guy ruins my movie experience. I don’t expect a quiet audience; I don’t expect you to be calm. You’re out with your friends, it’s a movie, it's funny. You can laugh, you can talk with your friends and yes, sometimes it’s even acceptable to clap. But when you do these things in excess, you become that guy, and trust me; you don’t want to be that guy.

Pee Pal Guy

So here’s the scenario. You’re out at a bar or restaurant, hanging out with friends, having a few drinks. All of a sudden, you feel nature’s call, and excuse yourself to go to the bathroom. You walk in to find that the gods have smiled upon you; the bathroom is empty. So you pick a urinal, and start to take care of business. All of a sudden, someone else enters the bathroom. Regardless of the fact that you’re using urinal #2 out of 7 and have given this guy plenty of other urinals to choose from, he decides to park himself over at urinal #3. Maybe he’s just a lonely fellow. Maybe he’s gay and wants to sneak a peek at your junk. Maybe he has a chronic phobia of pissing by himself, who knows. But for one reason or another, this guy always makes a beeline for the urinal next to the one being used.

Being there, and having someone just come over next to me and start pissing, it’s confusing. I’m trying to focus on the task at hand while at the same time wondering why he chose me, what it was that made him come over here. It’s like having someone at the bar sit next to you and just watch you drink. There’s no logical reason for it. So now of course I’m trying to finish up, accelerate the process. So you try to give that little push, get the stream out a few seconds faster. Because you don’t know what this guy has planned, you need to just finish up and get out of there. Panic sets in, it’s not going fast enough, you give it another push, and then it happens. You pushed a little too hard, and let out a nice long fart. So now, instead of him being the weirdo that you’d be telling your friends about, you’re the guy that blew ass next to him while he was pissing. The tables have turned, and now you’re that guy. And god forbid it was a wet one, because now you’d have to make the walk of shame into the stall to clean yourself up, all because one guy had to piss next to you. So please Pee Pal Guy, it's time to learn independence and piss on your own. Don't be that guy.

(hat tip to P.O. for the title)

Introductions

P.O.- Hello there, I am P.O. I am a 22 year old college graduate living in Boston, MA. I am a rider of the T, an avid movie-goer as well as frequenting several bars and restaurants around the cities ranging from hole-in-the-wall dives to the extravagant. I work full time at one of the many colleges in Boston and spend my free time trying to escape That Guy.

I go by OD. I'm 23 years old, also living in Boston. I'm a metalhead and an aspiring writer, but in the meantime I'm content to drink frequently and contribute nothing to society.